


He Who Should have Perished & other drivel

by SilencedFlea



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Death is a character, Drabble Collection, I don't know what to tag this, Short & Sweet, kind of books meets show, there will be other characters and things later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:02:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28894086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilencedFlea/pseuds/SilencedFlea
Summary: Small collection of Shadowhunters drivel.1. He who should have perished - Death is captivated by a certain warlock who should've drowned at the hands of his stepfather.2. Leather meets satin - A boy waits atop a building, hoping for someone to look up. (Malec)
Relationships: Magnus Bane & Alec Lightwood





	1. He who should have perished

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: mentions of death, attempted drowning.

Death did not make a habit of paying attention to young boys. Of course, there were times when she had to take them from the world of the living, guiding them with open arms, but that was just her job. Annoying little children were hardly of her concern—until one night.

Death first took notice of the strange young boy with glowing eyes when he was ten years old. She’d met him a few years earlier, hardly a drop of remorse for the child who wept over his mother’s body. She’d seen it all before, and she’d see it all again. But there he was, not too long after his mother’s death, his thrashing body held underwater, his little lungs flooding. Death floated in the water beside him, invisible, waiting for the moment when the boy would lose his breath for the final time and she’d wrap his tiny hand in hers. But that moment didn’t come.

The little boy with glowing eyes lashed out with power Death had not expected. It struck the man who held the little boy down, struck the man who had raised him and loved him and tried to kill him. Such power was rare in a boy so small, and Death propelled herself out of the water, curious to witness his strength, but it was over. One blast of magic was all it had taken to change Death’s task that night. The little boy, sobbing and full of rage, would live another day, while his stepfather would be claimed. But, Magnus Bane had attracted the attention of a powerful force, and she was determined to keep him in her sights.

Wherever Magnus Bane went, a piece of Death followed. And that led to the unfortunate. Death claimed Magnus's lover on the battlefield, she ripped his best friend from his arms. In the beginning she told herself it wasn’t intentional, she was just curious about the man he was becoming, and where she went, people died. It wasn’t her fault that she wounded the warlock over and over with every life she took. It wasn’t her fault that he blamed himself. At first, Magnus thought he’d been cursed. Not in the literal sense—he couldn’t feel another magic tainting his own—but cursed nonetheless. Cursed to live with the shadow of death following each person he loved. And how he cried when they were taken.

Over the years, Magnus tried to guard himself from the pain that followed him. He built a cage around his heart and kept adding bars until his heart could hardly beat. He had friends, but those friends couldn’t protect him from the toxicity that he began to attract. Women and men alike told him they loved him, then dug into him with sharp nails and even sharper words. Though he tried to hide behind carelessness and alcohol, the ache only grew, while Death's interest in him shrunk.

A few centuries were enough for Death to realise she'd be waiting an eternity for the plot to pick up. She’d wanted something _different_ , something _interesting_ to happen. She'd wanted to see a formidable warlock unleash his fury across the world. It didn’t have to result in death, she’d just wanted _fun_. But, perhaps this warlock was more human than demon. And that bored her. Yet she still watched.

One day, Death witnessed something she thought she never would: the strongest warlock in New York sacrificed his power, his centuries-old identity, for the one he loved—a _Shadowhunter_ of all people. The magic had rushed out of Magnus in a burning rage, striking the man who’d buried an arrow into his lover’s chest. And then the magic was gone. The power that had made Magnus who he was, that had been the cause of great destruction and creation, was gone, mortality left in its place.

As black hair turned to grey, and colour drained from Magnus’s cheeks, Death concluded it wouldn’t be long before the two met. She thought of the moment: the once mighty warlock reduced to greying hair and failing lungs, lying in a hospital bed while his lover grasped his frail hand. Death would appear to him and wrench his poor soul from the earth. ‘Why’d you do it?’ she’d hiss. ‘You could have conquered worlds.’ But deals were made and magic was returned to Magnus’s veins, yet again delaying their meeting.

It wouldn’t be until much later, after Magnus and his husband had lived a happy life, that she would finally appear before the warlock. She wouldn’t have seen him in a few years, having been preoccupied with various wars and natural disasters, but she'd be there when his breaths began to falter. This time, though, she’d appear before him with kindness and tell him that she understood. After all these years of watching a most beautiful love, she finally understood.


	2. Leather meets satin - Malec

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day after day, a young man sits atop a building, wishing for someone to look up and notice him, until someone does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really short...  
> I wrote a different version many years ago, and have since adapted it to suit a certain couple.

Upon a rooftop there sits a young man, his legs dangling off the edge of the building. The people and their vehicles are so far below that they appear to be the size of rice grains. No one notices him perched atop the building and, if one happens to lift their eyes, they will simply hang their head and keep moving. 

The young man leans back, draping himself across the concrete, sunshine illuminating the tanned skin of his face. His arms stretch out, leather sleeves providing protection against the heat of the concrete, and he turns his palms toward the sun. His eyes close, his chest deflates.

There was a time he would sit on this roof and throw stones at the people below, wishing they’d hit someone, anyone, and cause them to look up. Maybe they’d smile, or maybe they’d raise their fist and curse before resuming their commute. Maybe they’d thank him—no, they wouldn’t thank him.

This day seems no different, but his hands are empty. Clouds slowly gather above him, occasionally cutting off the stream of sunshine. When this happens the first time, his eyes flutter open and a little scowl crosses his features, dark eyebrows scrunching to reveal deep lines in his forehead. And then his eyes close again. Nothing will greet him when he opens them next. No bird, no bug, no drop of rain. Nothing. 

As the man lies there flattened against the roof, a shadow falls across his face. No doubt another cloud. His eyes stay closed.

‘Hello,’ says another man, his voice tainted with amusement.

The young man snaps out of his daydream, gazing up at the sparkly stranger that leans over him. ‘Did you look up?’ the young man asks. 

The stranger nods.

The young man slowly sits up and grasps the stranger’s hand. It’s warm, unlike the rocks that he is so used to holding. 

The stranger sits beside the young man, the fabric of his shirt fluttering softly in the breeze, glinting gold and burgundy. As their shoulders touch and the young man leans into him, the sparkly stranger smiles and says, ‘I looked up’. 


End file.
